


A Better Tale

by skybone



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cluelessness, Developing Relationship, F/F, Falling In Love, Missed signals, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't feel much like a hero; she felt like a bumbling fool who had been dropped into a hive of hornets. Heroes found a clear path to follow and never faltered or had doubts. Heroes wooed and won the people they loved. If she was making a story of their adventures, she thought ruefully, she would have made a better tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Better Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Written because my headcanon somehow does not exactly match that of Bioware. I do not own the characters or world, I’ve just taken them out to play; hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> (Written for my love.)

**SKYHOLD**

Cassandra gestured the Inquisitor through the rooms still under renovation and onto a battlement. “I was hoping we could speak privately.”

Trev looked around at the empty walkway and raised an eyebrow. “Are we not?”

The Seeker looked unusually flustered as she followed Trev. “Right. Of course we are.” After a few steps she stopped and said, “The flirting. With me. I’ve noticed it. Unless it is my imagination, which is entirely possible…”

“If it makes you uncomfortable,” said Trev, “I can stop.”

Cassandra didn’t seem to be able to meet her eyes. “Inquisitor… I hope you understand I cannot return your… affection.”

Trev said in as neutral a voice as she could muster, “You don’t have to say any more, Cassandra.”

The Seeker did look at her then. “I think perhaps I do… You are the Herald of Andraste. And my leader… and a woman.” There was a short silence while they both digested that. Then Cassandra said seriously, “I take it as a compliment, truly. I hope we can remain friends.” And walked away.

*          *          *

Trev was initially surprised at the level of disappointment she felt at Cassandra's rejection. It had been, after all, only a casual flirtation.

Indeed, she had flirted with most of them at least once; reactions to a light, flirting comment were a quick way to learn something about a person. Solas she didn’t bother with; he seemed too melancholic and removed from reality to be worth the effort. On the surface Varric seemed to flirt back, but when examined carefully, his responses were simply deflections. Leliana could give as good as she got, but was obviously uninterested and seemed to regard it primarily as an exercise of wit. Cullen blushed and became flustered. Josephine eyed her with consideration. Sera demonstrated that she knew exactly what _that_ game was. Blackwall was mostly impassive but also seemed slightly unnerved. Bull replied with focused interest and would have had her in bed in minutes if she'd given him an opportunity. Dorian, like Bull, flirted right back with enthusiasm, but with Dorian both understood that the flirting was recreational, a way to play with someone that was safe because both of them knew it was not serious and could never lead anywhere. She did not flirt with Cole because it would have confused him, which would be unkind.

She couldn't quite bring herself to flirt with Vivienne.

She was cautious, and with most of them she quit after one or two casts of the line, because she didn't want to start something she didn't want to follow through on. But she had thought she _would_ like to follow through with Cassandra; the other woman's strength and beauty and intensity were... very attractive. She was not sure that it could lead to anything lasting, because she wasn't at all certain that Cassandra's piety and her own lack of it were compatible. Cassandra was intensely devout, sometimes appallingly serious, and had an extraordinarily strong sense of honour and dedication to justice. She was sometimes awkward with people and often uncomfortably blunt. Her single-minded dedication to duty was infuriating at times.

But… though that sense of duty could have made her insufferable, she held herself to the same standards to which she held others. She was realistic in her evaluation of herself, knowing both what she was capable of and what she was not—though there, Trev thought, she might sometimes underestimate herself. She was innately decent, one of the most quietly compassionate people Trev had ever met, generous and genuinely kind. She actually listened to people who spoke to her, even those who attacked her or whom she distrusted; she had given Trev the benefit of the doubt and supported her when others would not have taken that chance. Trev thought she might be the only person whose views Sera challenged who seriously thought about what the rogue said; she might continue to have reservations about Sera’s behaviour, but the challenge clearly made her understand that her own worldview had limitations.

If Cassandra made a mistake she was not afraid to admit it. If she thought she hurt someone—and in some ways she was more aware of consequences than most—she would apologize with a directness that might not be as diplomatic as other people’s apologies, but was often more honest and genuine. She detested the Game and all its trappings, which Trev thought made her more sensible than most of those around her. Her honesty, reliability and consistency made her a solid anchor in a world that Trev sometimes found herself very much at sea in.

Not to mention that every once in a while an intelligent, dry humour surfaced that made her think the Seeker had hidden depths. Cassandra could be very funny if she wanted to be.

So, spurred by physical attraction, liking and pure curiosity, Trev had flirted. Cassandra had initially seemed mildly pleased with the attention; most people are happy to know they are desirable, after all. But now...

Well. Trev had deliberately kept the flirting light in tone, casually testing the waters, which meant the embarrassment and awkwardness afterwards were minimal. At the time, she even believed in her own lack of emotional investment.

It was just her bad luck, as Trev slowly came to realize over the following months, that she had fallen in love with the Seeker.

There was so much to do, there were so many problems to solve, that she could put it from her mind most of the time. First there was the mess at Haven, and then the dreadful trek to Skyhold and the beginning of its reconstruction, not to mention the constant _political_ problems that plagued her night and day.... They had a war to fight, and she, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, was in the thick of it.

Herald of Andraste, indeed. _That_ was a title for a hero. She didn't feel much like a hero; she felt like a bumbling fool who had been dropped into a hive of hornets. Heroes found a clear path to follow and never faltered or had doubts. Heroes wooed and won the people they loved. If she was making a story of their adventures, she thought ruefully, she would have made a better tale. Well, she would have to make do with the story she found herself in. Probably an Inquisitor shouldn't be involved with anyone anyway, as that could create even bigger political issues. Right? Right. There was no point in dwelling on it.

But everyone has their own particular scent, and Trev responded viscerally to Cassandra's—sweat when she had been fighting or training, spices, something floral she couldn't quite identify. It was distracting. So was the sight of her, breathing hard after exercise, a damp sheen on her skin. Or reading in the garden, so intensely focused on the latest instalment of Varric's serial that a Hurlock could have lumbered up to her unnoticed. Or— Andraste's knickers, Trev thought, the woman was just distracting in herself.

She did not want the others noticing her interest—and certainly not Cassandra. About some things, her companions and advisors could be altogether too perceptive. She did not want their amusement or their sympathy. Much better to simply be The Inquisitor, sexless and aloof from personal relationships. She stopped flirting with any of them, even Dorian. After the events at the Winter Palace unfolded, Josephine extended a cautious feeler in her direction, to which she responded with equally careful obliviousness.  She made sure she included Cassandra in her expeditions, but not all of them. When in company she spent a great deal of time watching Bull or Solas or even Vivienne—watching anyone, really, simply to prevent herself from watching Cassandra.

Late at night she found this distance less easy to maintain. She might be able to fool her mind with distractions, but her body was very specific in its wants, and so was her heart. But there was nothing to be done about it. Cassandra had made it clear that she valued Trev's friendship, and if that was all she could have of Cassandra—well, that was what she had. She would take what she could get.

**CRESTWALL**

It was done. The Mayor of Crestwall was dead. And there was a bad taste in Trev's mouth that was not likely to go away.

During the War Room debriefing afterwards, Josephine said, “It was a good decision to execute the Mayor. It showed that the Inquisition stands for certain values. That will reassure both the nobles and the commoners.”

Trev stared at her. “This was a decision based on political expediency. It was not a ‘good’ decision.”

“But it showed strength,” said Cullen. “That's important.”

“And making decisions based on political expediency is sometimes necessary,” said Leliana. “I agree with Josie. It shows that we stand for justice.”

“Justice?” said Trev, her voice rising. “I just had a man executed because _he_ chose an ‘expedient’solution. There was no good answer to the problem he faced—he did what his fear told him was right. It was _not_ the right choice and he has paid for it. He has paid for being frightened and out of his depth. Executing him may have been the _best_ thing to do, but it was _not_ justice.”

“But—” Trev held up a hand and cut them off.

“What he did was wrong. It was evil. That had to be addressed. But do any of you honestly think that you couldn't do something as evil as that, in circumstances that desperate? Because you could. Any of us could. And Maker save us, it's possible that some day we will.”

“But this is exactly why you are so important,” said Leliana. “The actions of someone pulled from the Fade by Andraste herself are guided by the Maker.”

Trev was abruptly so angry that she could barely breathe. “As far as I am concerned, it was not Andraste who pulled me from the Fade. _I do not believe that_. I am _not_ this—this heroic, magical person that you all seem to think I am. I am a minor noble—utterly lacking in experience at this level—who has become the head of a movement. And the only reason I have accepted that position and the decisions that come with it is because it was clear that _someone_ had to, and none of you were going to do it. You could not come to agreement, and you could not decide on one of you to rule over the others, so in desperation you chose me as a figurehead, because I have luck beyond what is reasonable and people think I was touched by Andraste. So I’m an ‘inspiration.’ All right. I accept it. I will _be_ your figurehead. I will be more than your figurehead, and do what you would not—I _will_ make decisions. I will make decisions for _expediency's_ sake. But I do it as a person, _not_ someone anointed by a god.” She stared at them for a moment. They all looked somewhat stunned, as if a nug had suddenly wheeled round and attacked. She turned and walked out the door.

*          *          *

There were few places to go in Skyhold where you could entirely avoid people. But Trev wanted to be alone; her level of frustrated rage was such that she was not sure that she could stop herself from hurting anyone who crossed her at the moment. She needed to calm herself, and did not want to bring her anger to her own quarters, so she went to the place she went almost every evening to be alone and stop thinking: the highest battlement of the tower. Once there, she paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. The frustration was not dissipating; if anything she was even more angry than she had been. Her advisors were so... practical. And so utterly unaware.

She was tired. Maker, she had never been so tired. Tired of the constant demands. Tired of being required to use people as pieces on a board. Tired of being the only one who seemed to see people as more than pieces on a board. Tired of being a piece on a board herself: the Hero Touched by Andraste. The Herald. The Inquisitor. They never called her by her name; she was really not a person at all to them.

There was a sound from the ladder that made her pause; someone was climbing slowly up. Short-cropped dark hair stood out against the paler stone. Of course. Her advisors would have told the Seeker of Trev’s inexplicable behaviour and asked her to remind the Inquisitor of her _duty_. Trev deliberately turned her back and resumed pacing.

Cassandra watched for a moment. “Inquisitor—”

“My _name_ is Trev,” she spat back, still pacing. Damn the woman. Would none of them leave her alone?

There was a lengthy pause, and she felt the Seeker's eyes on her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the other woman's customary frown had deepened, though she did not look angry. Eventually Cassandra said slowly, “I say 'Inquisitor' to remind people that we have a strong leader. I say 'Inquisitor' to remind myself that we have hope. But—it erases _you_ , every time... I am sorry, Trev.”

She stopped dead. The rage was gone, leaving—nothing. Of all of them, she had not expected such perception from Cassandra. She swallowed. She would not weep. She turned away and leaned on the battlements, staring hard at the mountaintops and concentrating on keeping her breathing even.

Cassandra followed, leaning silently beside her, her arm close but not quite touching. After a few moments there was a rustling of clothing, and then a nudge. She looked. Cassandra was offering her a tiny silver flask. She took it, uncapped it, and drank. Brandy. Good. She drank again and handed it back. Cassandra drank.

The brandy was slightly warm from Cassandra's body heat. She was seized with a wave of desire so strong that she thought she must be radiating it, like musk. She wanted Cassandra, right now, right there. She wanted to _be_. She closed her eyes and didn't move.

The flask went back and forth, in silence, until it emptied. The sun had set, and the last light stood now only on the highest peaks; the stars had began to show in the indigo sky. Then Cassandra said quietly, “It doesn't matter if you believe that you are magic, as you call it. It doesn't matter whether we believe that you are one who is specially chosen as Andraste's Herald, that you were saved by Andraste herself. The Maker sometimes puts people where they are needed—as the Inquisition needed you. It doesn't matter how. It doesn't matter what we believe about how this came to be. Whatever we believe, what matters is that you are here, in this place. What matters is that our duty, as yours, is simply to do the best we can.” Her hand touched Trev's arm briefly, warm in the evening cool. “Good night, Trev.” And then she was gone.

*          *          *

When she heard the Seeker’s step again on the ladder at sunset a few days later, Trev nodded to her. Cassandra joined her silently, and watched the sunset with her, again offering brandy. Afterwards she smiled slightly at Trev and walked away. Neither of them had said a single word.

The third time Cassandra joined her they spoke a little. On the fourth occasion Cassandra said,

“Do you always watch the sunset?”

“I try to,” said Trev. “I like to watch the sun rise and set. Luckily my room faces the sunrise, so that’s easy, as long as I wake early enough, and I usually do. In the evening I come here. Sunrise and sunset remind me that beauty exists, no matter how hard things are.”

“I would think the sunrise is more hopeful,” said Cassandra.

“It is,” said Trev. “It’s easy to feel hopeful at sunrise. But even when the world is moving into darkness, there's still beauty in the transformation. I find that... soothing.”

“You are a philosopher!” said Cassandra.

Trev laughed. “No... I just look for joy where I can find it.”

“Do you mind that I interrupt this time you spend watching?” the Seeker said diffidently. “If you prefer to be alone I can join you some at other time and place.”

“No,” said Trev quickly. “I like spending the time with you. You're restful.”

Cassandra blinked, seeming startled.“Restful?”

“As long as you don't talk to me about my duties,” said Trev dryly.

“I don't think of myself as restful.” The frown was back.

“Perhaps your view of yourself is somewhat limited,” said Trev.

*          *          *

Eventually they came to meet nearly every day at sunset on the battlements to drink a little brandy and talk; it became a kind of ritual. In company Trev had often found Cassandra's conversation rather earnest, but on the battlements the Seeker seemed much more relaxed. Trev was more relaxed herself, for that matter. If they had something to say, they said it; if the other did not reply beyond a grunt that was fine. Sometimes they scarcely spoke. Sometimes the conversation was long, and both had a lot to say. They rarely spoke about serious matters. It was, in fact, very restful.

On expeditions, the Seeker began bringing her tea in the early morning to sit in silence by Trev to watch the sun rise. Trev missed this when they were at Skyhold, but she understood why it propriety made it impossible. If Cassandra regularly came to her room before dawn there would be no end to the scandal.

In public, Cassandra still called her Inquisitor. But in private, she used her name. It made all the difference in the world.

**IN CAMP**

If it was at all possible, expedition camps were set up near a lake or stream. This provided not just drinking water but an opportunity to wash before spending the evening cleaning and repairing armour and weapons. This was particularly important after particularly bloody or otherwise messy battles—spiders were a special case when it came to messes. There was a particular level of hell reserved for spending days with both your body and clothing crusted in blood _and_ ichor. Someone would stand watch while others bathed, so they would not be taken entirely unprotected if they were attacked; and it fell that on one expedition the Inquisitor and Seeker were the only women in the party and stood watch for each other.

Trev usually missed out on the worst of the mess, fighting a flanking style with daggers, but on this occasion she'd been cornered and was probably gorier than any of them, so Cassandra told her to bathe first. The stream near the camp had deep pools, perfect for bathing; Trev stepped in gingerly but then gave a sigh as she found the water chilly but not icy, and slipped deeper. She submerged completely, emerged spluttering happily, and began to scrub with a sliver of soap. After a time she dropped the soap on a rock for Cassandra’s use later and said, “This is one thing I'm sorry I can't do at Skyhold. It's all very well to have warm baths, don't get me wrong, but there's nothing quite as exhilarating as bathing in a stream. But at Skyhold's elevation the water is too cold even for me.”

She submerged entirely again to rinse off the last of the soap, burst from the water in a flurry of sun-shot droplets shaken from her hair, and found Cassandra staring at her with an absolutely blank face. Then the Seeker looked away again, scanning the trees, and said, “I... am not sure I would take a cold stream in preference to a hot bath.” Her voice sounded a little odd.

“Well, it's true that hot water makes it easier to get clean,” said Trev, climbing out, drying herself as best she could with a rag, and pulling on clean clothes. And then it was Cassandra's turn.

As she stood guard, Trev envied the Seeker's focus; normally nothing could distract _her_ from scanning for danger, certainly not the sight of a bathing woman. It was odd that she had been watching Trev. In anyone else she might have thought—but no.

This was Cassandra. It did not mean anything.

**PRACTICING FRIENDSHIP**

There were times, after that, when Trev felt the Seeker's eyes on her with a kind of cool assessment. The attention was a little disconcerting. It was even more disconcerting a few months later when she realized that Cassandra had started behaving differently. Once or twice she said something that in another person, another context, could have been seen as flirtatious. And she had begun to touch Trev. Not possessively; not suggestively; but she was not a very physically demonstrative person, and even a little casual touching was not usual for her. Trev was baffled.

Eventually the Inquisitor came to the conclusion that after that first meeting on the battlements Cassandra had decided that she—Trev—needed a friend. It was not that she thought Cassandra was coldly calculating about this, or did it as part of her duty; she already knew that the Seeker liked her. Furthermore, Cassandra was not a good dissembler, and this all felt honestly warm and genuine. It was more as if she had decided that she would no longer let Trev's position as Inquisitor define their friendship by setting a space between them. A little more physical closeness was simply part of this.

Perhaps Cassandra had been lonely too.

She was the only one of the companions to try to bridge the gap created by Trev’s position. Trev did drink fairly regularly with them in the tavern, and they welcomed her, joking and teasing almost as one of themselves. But even Sera and Bull were absolute in their relationship to her as leader; they might joke and even challenge her in some ways, Sera because she was an anarchist at heart and Bull because he originated outside the strictures of human culture, but they never really forgot that she was the Inquisitor. But with Cassandra, sometimes, she forgot her titles, and thought the Seeker did too.

Cassandra's friendship seemed all the more valuable for the fact that she rarely allowed such closeness. Cassandra was short-tempered and impetuous but at the same time had a formidable level of reserve and self-control. She had probably developed the self-control to counter the native impulsiveness with which she still sometimes responded to events. Trev had seen her angry, but the only time she had seen her really lose her temper was with Varric, when she discovered that he had known how to find Hawke, and in that case the anger was mostly directed at herself. Her demeanour for the most part was calm and her reactions were considered. Yet no one would have described her as placid; there was a clear sense that strong feelings could and often did smoulder under the surface, even if she did not always allow them free rein. Trev wished she could have been the one to release some of that passion.

But Cassandra clearly trusted that Trev would not bring any awkward issues of physical attraction into their relationship. She seemed to regard her now as Trev had regarded Dorian: someone who was safe and could therefore be relaxed with and with whom she could occasionally release her playful side. The Seeker’s sense of propriety would not always allow her to joke casually as others did, but because she had allowed herself to be more relaxed around the Inquisitor, Trev saw more of her sense of humour.

Trev supposed that she should be glad of this. Honestly, she did value Cassandra's friendship enormously, and more every day as she came to know her better. The fact that she had not found a way to stop wanting Cassandra, to stop wanting something more than friendship, did not mean that she did not want what she had. She thought that probably, if they survived Corypheus, they would turn into old women sitting around the fire drinking fine brandy and gossiping about the friends they had known, and that she would still secretly yearn after Cassandra after all those long years.

But having been warned off once, Trev couldn't let herself flirt back. It was as much as she could do to sometimes touch Cassandra as a friend would.

**HERE LIES THE ABYSS**

When Trev found Cassandra writing at her table after they escaped from the Fade, she was amused by the look of ferocious concentration and couldn’t resist teasing her by asking if she was composing love poetry. For a moment the Seeker’s face made her think she’d gone too far, but then she evidently decided that she was not being mocked and her expression softened. “I couldn’t. Not even if my life depended on it.”

“It’s not _that_ hard.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “It is. Poetry takes finesse, it takes…grace.”

Trev stared at her. “You think you don’t have those things?”

Cassandra simply shook her head and changed the subject.

Afterwards, Trev started back down the stairs, leaving her to her task, but then, remembering that she had forgotten to pass on a message from Leliana, took the few steps back up to speak to her. The Seeker had not begun to write again, and she surprised an expression on Cassandra's face that she had never seen there before; a kind of bleak sadness entirely at odds with her previous determination. Startled, Trev said, “What's wrong?”

“I—nothing.” Cassandra looked disconcerted. “I mean, I—” She stopped and visibly regrouped. “Sometimes I think of Corypheus and the harm he has done and it all seems so hopeless,” she said carefully. There was a faint flush showing on her cheekbones. Trev thought it somewhat endearing that the loss of the ability to articulate her thoughts clearly, even briefly, was so embarrassing to her.

“Well, that's why we are going do something about him,” she said.

“Yes,” said Cassandra.

**EMERALD GRAVES**

There were more giants than she had expected. How many offspring did the damned things spawn, anyway? Things were going fairly well—the giants were powerful but slow—until a moment's carelessness trapped her in a space between two rock walls. She tried to duck between the giant's legs to escape, but even a slow giant can be too fast sometimes.

The blow lifted her off her feet and sent her flying. She hit stone, hard, close to an old rock painting, and the edges of her vision greyed out. She tried to roll to her feet but the giant hit her again. This time when she landed more than the edges of her vision were gone, and her body simply refused to move. There was shouting. She heard the crash of a shield, then Bull's battle roar and a giant's scream. Someone grabbed her under the arms and pulled, and a wave of red pain erased her interest in anything else. She was being jolted, pulled, pushed. Then there was a deafening roar of sound that went on and on and something crashed down on her and the pain surged violently and the sound went on and on until it didn't.

She came awake coughing, agony slicing through her with every spasm, in near darkness, a weight over her. She tried to stop, but there was dust in her throat, dust in her nostrils, and she couldn't help herself.

She was not the only one coughing. A weight over her shifted. Someone was stretched half across her, and now they were moving, lifting themselves off. “Trev? How badly are you hurt?” said a hoarse voice.

Thank the Maker, she could breathe again, if only just. “Ribs,” she croaked. Cassandra's hands were moving over her, patting her down. It was not absolutely dark, she realized; she could see the Seeker as a dark shadow leaning over her. “What... happened?”

“You went down,” said Cassandra, “and the giant was right on top of you. Bull and Dorian went for it and I pulled you out of its reach into a space under an overhang. But it came after us—it attacked the stone wall and brought some of it down. It didn't fall on us, but it's a lot of rock. I think Dorian is going to have to get us out.”

“Are you... all right?”

“Just bruises,” said Cassandra dismissively. “I don't _think_ you're bleeding... so maybe it's just the ribs. But I’m out of potions.”

Trev thought the ribs were quite enough, especially considering that her potion belt was empty as well. She had ended in a twisted position, awkwardly folded over rocks, and breathing might be better than it had been when Cassandra lay across her but it was not easy. “I... need to move....” she managed.

Cassandra's hands slid over her again, explored the stone beneath her. “It's not a good place to be lying.... If I help to lift you, can you turn yourself a little?”

“Yes,” said Trev, who would have agreed to anything at that point.

The shifting wasn't pleasant, and whatever Cassandra was doing in the close space jostled her painfully. Eventually arms came round her from behind. “Lie back,” said the Seeker. “I've got you.” Trev leaned cautiously backwards, felt Cassandra take her weight, feeling the Seeker shift back a bit more until the Inquisitor was half sitting, half lying, her body leaning against the other woman's.

The level of relief was amazing. She was able to relax a little for the first time, and although she was still in a haze of pain she was able to breath more normally. The Seeker's breastplate wasn't exactly comfortable, being hard and unyielding, but it was smooth. And Cassandra was inside it.

She felt movement, and then something touched her hand. A waterskin. She managed to get it to her mouth and took a small sip, spilling some as she drank and feeling it run under her collar. She drank again and passed the skin back. It helped her throat. “Thanks.”

Cassandra drank too. “Better?”

“Yes,” said Trev. “Be even better without the breastplate, though.”

She felt the Seeker’s body shake as she gave a snort of laughter. “Even for you, my friend, I will not remove my breastplate when there are giants around.”

Trev, still muzzy with pain, said, “Another time, then,” before she could catch herself.

But she wasn't sure whether Cassandra had even heard what she said, because there were voices calling then, and the Seeker shouted back. The boulders began to glow with light, and then they were falling upward and away, and then Dorian was kneeling by her, holding a potion to her lips, and there was the blessed cessation of pain.

*          *          *

Cassandra had had more than just bruises, though nothing life-threatening, and certainly nothing that Dorian’s potions couldn't deal with. But she had been badly knocked about. The whole thing had been a close call for both of them. Perhaps that was why, when they finally got back to Skyhold and gathered at the tavern, she seemed unusually distracted. Of course everyone noticed because she was normally so single-minded, observant and undistractable. “Ah, the Seeker can't concentrate,” said Varric airily when she had missed a direct question about fighting the giants. “Only one possible explanation: she must have taken a lover.”

All attention instantly focused on Cassandra. Almost everyone roared with laughter; Trev did not, though she did raise a startled eyebrow when she saw that the Seeker had turned a deep red. But other than the change of colour, there was no sign of disturbance. “Certainly not,” Cassandra said briskly.

“Why not?” prodded Varric. “Why is taking a lover so unthinkable?”

“It is not unthinkable,” Cassandra said calmly, “but I do not have a lover. We are at war.”

“War is the best time to take a lover,” said Varric. “Who knows it you'll live through it? Why not find a way to forget for a while? Might as well enjoy what you can.”

But Cassandra simply shrugged and the conversation moved on. Trev thought it best to pretend she didn't hear Sera mutter, “Might not be such a tight-ass if she did take a lover.”

*          *          *

She was not sure what she would do if Cassandra ever did get involved with someone. When she thought of it she felt such a wave of complex emotions that she didn't know how to deal with that she simply tried not to think about it. Luckily her equilibrium had never been seriously challenged.

Trev wondered if anyone else had noticed that Cassandra had not really answered Varric in quite the way he thought; she had simply paired two statements and everyone had made assumptions as to her meaning. Or maybe it really was her answer. Trev suspected that, having given her duty to the Inquisition, the Seeker believed that affairs of the heart would be inefficient distractions. If so, she was thankful for Cassandra's dedication.

**BLACKWALL**

For days after her judgment of Blackwall, Trev found herself with a hair-trigger temper, overreacting, cranky and irritable. It spilled over into her fighting; on more than one occasion she lost her temper in battle and pushed combat further than she should have.

When they’d gathered in the tavern to drink after a particularly nasty fight, Iron Bull said to her, “Boss, that Templar almost got you today. You need to practice more.”

“He’s the one who’s dead,” she snapped. Then she suppressed most of her surge of temper—it was the truth, after all—and said, “All right then, spar with me tomorrow.”

“Not me,” he said. “You need to work with a shield-fighter. Work with Cassandra.”

“I would be honoured,” said the Seeker formally. So there was no way out of it, and they joined the others in the sparring yard on the next day.

For all their friendship, Cassandra was not one to hold back to make it easy; quite the contrary. She was strong, tough and skilled and fought intelligently. Trev found she was wasting a lot of effort keeping clear of the Seeker’s blunted practice sword, and not getting many hits in. It was annoying—they were usually more evenly matched, but this time the Seeker seemed to anticipate her every move. Finally she took a hard blow to the ribs; it hurt, and she lost her temper.

She probably moved faster when she was in a rage, but she wasn’t nearly as precise or effective. Cassandra’s shield knocked her down several times, until she lay half stunned, the Seeker’s sword at her throat, and muttered an angry, “I yield.”

“Sloppy!” Bull yelled from across the yard. She felt her neck and shoulders tense with anger as she rolled to her feet.

“Again,” she growled at Cassandra.

Things did not improve. She was fighting badly; at best she could hold her own for a time, but she could not overcome Cassandra’s guard, and over and over again she was forced to yield. Cassandra’s frown grew progressively deeper. Trev’s anger grew until it felt as if someone had her head in a vice and she began to understand what people meant when they talked about a blind rage.

She was streaming with sweat, she was exhausted, she was in pain, there was red in her vision and she could not give up. She went down over and over again, rolling back up each time to fight again.

Until, finally, after a blow so hard the wind was knocked out of her, she could no longer rise. She shut her eyes and simply concentrated on breathing. “Inquisitor! Are you all right?” said a worried voice.

She opened her eyes and saw that Cassandra was down on one knee beside her, equally sweaty and dirty and looking as tired as she felt. And just like that, all the anger flowed away.

“I think I’ve done enough for today,” she said. Cassandra got heavily to her feet, and put out a hand to help her up.

 Most of the others had gone, but Bull was still there and came over to join them. “You weren’t fighting with your head, Boss,” he said. “You’ll never win if you only fight with your anger.” Then he grinned. “But I think that if you spar tomorrow, you will beat her.” He nodded at them and went to talk with Krem.

“I think that after today, sparring tomorrow might kill me,” said Cassandra.

Trev gave a snorting laugh. “I wouldn’t mind if we put off more sparring for a day—or maybe a month or two.” Then she sobered. “That was a hell of a match. Let’s go to the tavern and I’ll buy you a drink… I need to sit down.”

*          *          *

Trev brought two tankards from the bar and winced as she slid onto the tavern chair. “I'm going to be sore tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry,” said Cassandra, “I didn't mean—”

“No, it's alright. I needed a rough fight, and I think Bull knew that. Better to work it off and pick up some bruises from you than do stupid things with Venatori or take it out on people who don't deserve to suffer because I can't work it off on the one who does. I—” She hesitated. “I needed to spar with someone who was safe—and could hand me my ass on a platter when I was stupid with anger. Thank you.”

Cassandra did not pretend she didn't know what Trev was talking about. “I would have had him killed,” she said bluntly. “I think sending him to the Grey Wardens was probably better, though.”

Trev sighed. “It’s not even that I think he is evil. He’s not. I can see that he has tried to make up for what he did. I can see that he’s a different person from the man who did those things. I just—I don't understand why he didn't tell me the truth. I don't understand why he didn't come to me. Surely after all this time he knew I would have treated him fairly?”

It was a rhetorical question, and she didn't expect Cassandra to answer. But after a moment the Seeker said slowly, “I think that when one has made decisions because they seem right—because they seem the only decision possible when you make them—and then one sees later that they were wrong—it can be very hard to see how change is possible, even knowing that there are other options.”

Trev stared at her. “I would not have expected you to be so understanding.”

“I would still have killed him,” said Cassandra, looking away. “Sometimes wishing to change is not enough.”

**THE DRAGON**

Trev was a blade fighter specializing in flanking attacks. She was stealthy, quick and agile, in and out before her victim realized what was happening. She could not wear heavy armour, because it would slow her, which meant she had to be cautious and use skill, not strength, when attacking enemies with better armour and bigger weapons.

She certainly did not make suicidal head-on attacks on dragons, even dragons disadvantaged by having already been blinded in one eye.

Except that this was exactly what she was doing. When Cassandra went down, her shield protected her from the worst of the dragon’s fire, but the dragon was too close, and its head came down, jaws opening. There was no time for her to evade it.

There _was_ time for Trev to fling herself out of the doorway in the ruins where she’d taken shelter, straight at it, and she did. Straight over Cassandra’s prone body—she thought she might have actually stepped on her—and up the dragon’s muzzle, plunging her blade into the sighted eye before it could react. The dragon screamed and whipped its head around; Trev went flying, landing hard. There was a flare of dragonfire, but nowhere near either of them: the dragon could no longer see its enemies to target them.

After that it was fairly easy for Cassandra, Bull and Varric to finish it off while Trev stood, gasping for breath. She felt bruised and battered—but alive. They were all alive. The chance she had taken had paid off. The dragon sank to the ground beside the ruins with a final shudder, and she moved to loot its body.

Something caught her by the arm and roughly swung her round. Her hand started to move reflexively toward her weapons before she realized it was Cassandra. The Seeker's face was white with rage. Both her hands clamped painfully on Trev's upper arms. “Fool!” she hissed. “Don't—you—EVER—do—that—again!” Every word was punctuated with a violent shake that staggered Trev and pushed her back a step as Cassandra advanced.

When Cassandra exploded at Varric she’d taken a swing at him, though she had regained hold of her temper fairly quickly. But Trev felt no fear, although she was startled by Cassandra’s intensity. The Seeker was shouting at her now. “Do you not understand? You are the Inquisitor! You cannot take chances like that!”

Cassandra was standing toe to toe with her, and her snarling face was very close to Trev's.

So Trev kissed her.

It was a throwaway kiss, light and fleeting, the kind that could easily be disavowed as sisterly affection or teasing. But Cassandra growled and pushed her violently back, though without releasing her grip. Trev's body hit a wall with enough force to drive half the breath from her lungs. She had just enough time to think, “Oh, that was a bad mistake,” and then Cassandra's mouth was on hers, the length of Cassandra's body was pressed hard against hers, pinning her against the wall, and she stopped thinking.

Maker.

Cassandra had stopped kissing her. She still had the Inquisitor's leathers in a death grip, but she had buried her face in Trev's shoulder and was taking great gasping, shuddering breaths as if she had run a race. Trev's arms were around her, but she couldn't get a proper hold on the warrior. Which was one of the points of having armour, she supposed, but decidedly inconvenient when not in battle. Not to mention that it was between her and... “Sodding armour,” she mumbled, fumbling, needing to touch skin, and reached instead for Cassandra's face, prying it away from her shoulder, catching it between her hands, kissing her, feeling wetness under her fingers and tasting salt that could have been sweat or tears or both.

Kissing her.

Feeling the hard bone and muscle pressed so rigidly against her begin to soften and shape itself to her. The fisted hands relaxed their grip and slid down over her ribs to rest on her hips, still clutching her but more gently now.

Kissing her.

Eventually they stopped to breathe. She looked around; they were alone. She vaguely recalled hearing Varric's voice saying, “Let's leave the Inquisitor and Seeker to, ah, argue this out on their own.”

Varric could be quite decent at times.

They looked at each other. Cassandra tilted her head forward so that their foreheads rested together. “I am a fool,” she said. “I thought—I don't know what I thought. I only know that one day I looked at what I thought I felt and knew it was a lie, and began to try to undo it. But then... I thought it was too late, and knew just how great a fool I was. And so I resolved not to make a bigger fool of myself. But today... I was so terrified...” She took another shuddering breath. “Please... don't ever do that to me again.”

“Cassandra…”

“I was angry with the Inquisitor for risking herself. I am sworn to protect you—to protect the Inquisitor. We cannot afford to lose you. But in truth,” said the Seeker with difficulty, “it is more personal. I could not bear to lose you. I could not bear knowing that you died in my place.”

“Don’t you see that it goes both ways?” said Trev fiercely. “I allow you to risk yourself for me. Inquisitor or not, I cannot promise not to risk myself for you. I cannot allow harm to come to you through my inaction. I can’t. I love you. You will just have to live with that. It’s how love works.”

Cassandra’s arms came right round her then, and they simply stood for a time, holding each other.

**IN CAMP**

Being that they were travelling with Bull and Varric, there were some knowing smiles and a bit of teasing when they rejoined the others. Trev knew that Varric would make a story of it, but at this point she couldn’t have cared less. She just wanted to get back to Skyhold, and the faster the better.

For even this close to Skyhold, it was dangerous, and although heavy armour was removed for sleeping chainmail and leathers were not. For the same reason it was impossible for anyone to separate from the others for a little privacy. The best Trev and Cassandra could do was spread their blankets together on one side of the fire while the others slept and kept watch on the other side. They were able to whisper a little to each other privately, and that was all.

When Trev crawled into her bedroll Cassandra reached for her wordlessly, and pulled her down into a tight embrace that only slowly relaxed. She lay in the curve of Cassandra's arms, head on her shoulder, felt the Seeker's long fingers gently tracing the shape of her face, as if memorizing it. It wasincredibly sensuous, and incredibly frustrating. Trev felt as if a light film of flame burned over her skin. Fingers slid lightly across her lips; she opened them and sucked one finger into her mouth. Cassandra's breath caught and turned ragged. “You—undo me, love,” she breathed.

“Tomorrow,” said Trev, “we will be home in Skyhold. I want to take you to my bed—which is very large and pretentious as befits an Inquisitor's position—and undo you all night. Will you come to me?”

Cassandra smiled. “You know I will.” Then her face sobered. “Today—when I first kissed you—I did not ask, I took. I should not have let my fear and anger drive me that way. I am sorry.”

Trev said slowly, “But I lit that tinder, didn't I? And I didn't ask either, so we are both at fault. But Cassandra—I can't be sorry for kissing you, or for you kissing me, because if you hadn't kissed me I think we would still not understand each other.”

“I think you are probably right,” said Cassandra. “But still...”

“Also,” said Trev, “I liked it. A lot.”

“Oh?” It was hard to see in the light of the dying fire, but Trev thought the Seeker was blushing.

“Yes,” said Trev. “Do you have any idea what it's like when a warrior you find wildly attractive pushes you up against a wall and has their way with you as if they can't help themselves? With their entire body pressed against yours? So that _your_ entire body is screaming that it wants to be taken, right then? So that—”

“Enough!” Yes, that was definitely a blush. Cassandra was laughing, but her breathing had quickened. “You are a wicked woman, Inquisitor.”

“I am just attempting to make it clear,” said Trev reasonably, “that any time a certain Seeker wants to take advantage of me or surprise me with similar attentions she is welcome to do so.”

“That,” said Cassandra somewhat hoarsely, “is reciprocal.” And perhaps not to Trev’s surprise, kissed her.

“I want you, Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast,” said Trev when they broke again. “I want to court you with flowers and fine wine and brandy aged in casks bound in gold. I want to write poems to you and read them to the world. I want to bring you to a bed full of flower petals and surround it with as many candles as there are stars in the night sky, and undo every buckle on your armour and make love to you until the last star goes out. And here we are in the wilderness, twenty feet away from our friends, it's too dangerous to take our armour off, and I have no flowers or candles or even wine.”

“Well,” said Cassandra the practical, “ we shall just have to make do.”

**SKYHOLD**

It was a long day of travel before they made it back to Skyhold in late afternoon. Everyone was tired, and Trev wanted nothing more than a simple supper and an evening spent in her quarters with Cassandra. But her advisors wanted to meet in the War Room, and then Leliana wanted to discuss the implications of the intelligence she had gathered. Even worse, Josephine had arranged a formal dinner for some visiting nobles, and there was no way short of being on her deathbed that the Inquisitor could avoid that duty. She had an hour in between War Table meetings and the dinner, enough time to bathe, change into formal dress and make a few housekeeping arrangements. Cassandra had even less time than she did, as Cullen had taken her away to get information on some military issues, and arrived at the dinner barely in time, still damp from her own bath and dressed plainly and somewhat carelessly, which of course scandalized Vivienne.

This being a formal dinner, seating was arranged with great care, and Trev was not close to Cassandra. Both of them were kept busy entertaining the guests. But her eyes still caught the Seeker’s from time to time, and once Cassandra gave her a very small, very private smile, and the thread of what she was saying went right out of Trev’s head, and she had to pretend to spill her wine to give herself an excuse to recover.

Eventually—after far too long an evening being polite to shallow nobles, as far as she was concerned—she was able to make her excuses and retire to her quarters. She paced nervously.

When the soft knock came at her door, she called, “Come,”and Cassandra opened it, stepped inside, and shut it behind her. She stopped and looked around with what Trev devoutly hoped was a look of dawning delight. Trev had stolen candles from the housekeeping supplies, arranged them round the room, and lit them all. Pillows scattered the bed, and the quilts were thrown back. The settee had been pulled close to the fire, which was building a good set of embers now, and a small table set nearby with a bottle and glasses and a vase of the simple blue wildflowers that she knew Cassandra loved, surreptitiously collected along with herb samples along the way. “I don’t think it comes from casks bound in gold,”Trev explained, “but it _is_ a very good brandy. I skipped the flower petals because they, er, might get into places they shouldn’t.”

Cassandra laughed. “It is lovely. Thank you—I was not expecting this.”

Trev took her hand and led her to the settee. “What were you expecting?”

“I’m not sure,”Cassandra said seriously. “I—I do not have a lot of experience with affairs of the heart.”

“Well,”said Trev, “every one is different, I think.”She poured a little brandy for each of them and handed Cassandra a glass, then stretched her arm around the Seeker's shoulders on the back of the settee and took a sip of her own brandy. She was acutely conscious of the closeness and warmth of the other woman. Cassandra drank as well, and eyed the glass with respect.

“I promised you brandy and candles and flowers and poetry,” said Trev, “and I keep my promises. Though I haven't managed the poetry yet. I didn't want to pounce the moment you entered the room; it wouldn't have given you time to notice the brandy and candles. Also, it didn't seem polite.”

“You,” said Cassandra, “have been paying far too much attention to Vivienne.” She put out her hand and stroked Trev's thigh.

Trev put her brandy down carefully, took Cassandra's glass and placed it beside her own, then kissed her, hard.

Some fairly breathless moments later, she had the Seeker's jacket and shirt unbuttoned and her bodice unlaced and was exploring what lay beneath them with both hands and mouth. Cassandra's hands were tugging at her clothing and both of them were thoroughly disheveled. “This is silly,” said Trev. “We have a perfectly good bed, if we can get that far.”

By the time they got to the bed the rest of the clothing had been discarded. Trev rolled Cassandra onto her back and gazed at her. “Maker, you're beautiful,” she breathed. Cassandra snorted and opened her mouth to speak, but Trev put her hand over her lips. “No, she said. “You are. Truly.”

Cassandra stared at the Inquisitor for a moment. Her eyes softened and she pulled Trev down into a kiss. Trev kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, and then began to work her way downward. Cassandra's breasts were beautiful, her nipples hard under the Inquisitor's palms and tongue. Like her face, her body was scarred in places, a reminder of past battles; Trev kissed every mark. The Seeker had the wide, muscled shoulders and strong legs of a swordfighter and shield carrier, so one didn't always notice the luxurious curves of her hips; Trev was lean by comparison.

Trev slid lower still, settling between Cassandra's thighs. Cassandra smelled of musk and spices and tasted better than aged brandy on her tongue. The Seeker’s hands were knotted in Trev's hair and she was making small noises deep in her throat. Eventually Trev brought her hand up; Cassandra bucked against the combination of tongue and fingers and cried out, her hands pulling Trev hard against her. When she sank back Trev shifted, sliding up her lover's body, then settled against her. She began to move her hand again, slow and steady, and a little after that Cassandra gasped, bit her hard on the shoulder, and gave a muffled shout.

When her breathing finally settled, Cassandra opened her eyes and said seriously, “Maker's breath—I think you what you have just given me is poetry enough.”

Trev laughed. “Perhaps not as romantic as a poem, though.”

The Seeker put up a hand and touched her face. “It seemed as heartfelt.”

Trev felt something tighten in her chest. “Yes. It was that.”

Cassandra reached for Trev, pulled her down into the circle of her arms, kissed her forehead gently, and held her. Trev could feel the Seeker’s heart beating against hers, gradually slowing.

After a bit Cassandra raised herself on one elbow and looked down at her. “Now... I seem to recall you offering an invitation...” She shifted, looming over Trev. “Something about a warrior pinning you, I think?” Her shoulders seemed very wide and powerful. She allowed her body to drop down to cover Trev’s, though using her elbows to prevent her full weight from falling on the smaller woman. “Something about a body screaming to be taken?” Trev, who was already wound tight as a spring, stopped breathing, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the Seeker’s weight.

Cassandra may not have made love to a woman before, but Trev would have never known it. The hand between the Inquisitor's legs teased her to distraction. When Trev, frustrated beyond bearing, began to squirm against her, Cassandra simply used her weight to keep her pinned. By the time she allowed Trev release the Inquisitor was incoherent and the Seeker herself seemed to have lost control again, moving against her with intense, focused urgency before collapsing onto her lover.

They lay like that for a time, sweaty and exhausted and entwined, and Trev felt tears leak from her closed eyes and run down into her hair. Shifting to take her weight off her lover, Cassandra noticed. “Trev... what is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” whispered Trev. “I just... I thought it was hopeless.” Cassandra stared at her for a moment, and then gave her a wordless, slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled away she said, “They will say one of two things about me. That I stood at the Inquisitor’s side, her protector and her lover. That it was meant to be. Or they will say I was led from the path of faith by the wiles of a madwoman.”

Trev said quietly, “I don’t care what “they” say. What do you believe?”

Cassandra rolled up on one elbow and looked down at her. “I believe you are a woman who does not share my faith. I believe you are part of the Maker’s plan.

“Beyond that... I’ve feared you since the moment I laid eyes on you, though I didn’t know why. I have never known anything like it. I have been with only one man in my life. A mage, with whom I adventured when I was still very young. He died at the Conclave. I will not let Corypheus win,”she said fiercely. “I will not let him take you from me.”

“You can’t control what will happen, Cassandra,”said Trev, stroking her face.

“Perhaps,”said the Seeker. “But that will not prevent me from trying,”and bent to kiss Trev again.

 

 _—_ _FINIS_ _—_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cassandra is not available for same-sex relationships.
> 
>  _Seriously_ , Bioware? 
> 
> I’m not going to go into the reasons I think that the company’s decision with regard to the preferences of the NPCs in general are good or bad—I think there are pros and cons and it’s not a simple question—but I will say this:
> 
> 1\. I know not everyone is available in real life, but this is not real life. I want more options!  
> 2\. I know an awful lot of women who thought they were straight only to discover that they actually weren’t, not because some tricky lesbian seduced them but because personal evolution.  
> 3\. I’d live to see a setting in The Keep that allowed players to set relationship preferences as per their own imaginations. Make some chars more difficult to romance, by all means, but make it possible. Let us yearn, let us strive—
> 
> Ahem. At any rate, this story was my response to the restrictions on romancing Cassandra. YMMV.
> 
> EDIT: I was asked to explain what I meant in #3 and answered in my response to the second comment. What do y'all think about this?
> 
> Re the Inquisitor’s name: reactions to names are very personal. For me, “Evelyn” didn’t feel in any way right for either the character I played in-game or the character in this story. The early drafts of the story used the first player name I chose, but the names we choose may not be “right” or meaningful for others; I wanted something more generic. The Trevelyan in my story is the kind of person who I think would be quite likely to have a nickname, so I went with Trev. It may not work for you, but it’s as neutral as I could make it under the circumstances.


End file.
